His Little Miracle: The Billionaire's Baby

‘Flattery will get you everywhere,’ she said, secretly thrilled by his chivalry in insisting on paying, remembering the old times they’d had to go Dutch because neither of them had a spare cent to their names.

‘Will it?’

‘What can I say? The café’s my baby.’

‘You have every right to be proud. It’s a great place.’

He took hold of her hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world, his touch warm and steady, infusing her with a sense of security she hadn’t known in a long time.

‘I know.’

This wasn’t a time for false modesty. She knew the Niche was fabulous, from its cosy corner, bearing low leather sofas in the softest fawn surrounded by comfortable matching ottomans and strategically placed fuchsia and turquoise bolster cushions, to the monstrous timber bar topped by stainless steel with its co-ordinated bar stools.

She loved every inch of the place, with its exquisite water views on one side, to the views of Melbourne’s city skyline on the other. She’d built it up from scratch, competing in a high-end hospitality market, and could now proudly say it held its own.

Quite simply, the Niche was exactly that for her: a niche in Melbourne, a personal space, a home. Something she’d craved since leaving Rainbow Creek, something concrete and solid and all hers to fill the aching void deep in her heart.

He squeezed her hand, understanding exactly where she was coming from. He should; she’d bared her soul to him, poured out her hopes and dreams about owning a place just like the Niche all those years ago.

Pity he hadn’t listened to her other dream that had involved ‘till death us do part’.

‘Would you like me to take you home?’

‘No, but thanks for offering. Still the gentleman, huh?’

In a rash, spur of the moment gesture she didn’t rationalise and would probably regret later, she leaned forward and placed a quick peck on his cheek, fighting the urge to linger.

His stubble prickled her lips, leaving them tingling and hypersensitive as she inhaled deeply, savouring his scent. Crushed leaves, cedar, the woodsy cedar instantly transporting her back to Rainbow Creek and the huge cedar tree with its old rubber tyre she used to swing on in her parents’ backyard where he’d pushed her for hours one sultry Sunday afternoon.

It was a safe smell, an evocative smell, and she pulled away sharply before she did something even crazier like fling herself into his arms, just like she used to run from the swing into his open, waiting arms.

‘I guess there’s something to be said for old-fashioned manners if that’s the type of response I get,’ he said, rubbing his cheek where she’d left the faintest lipstick mark, a goofy grin on his face.

Her heart hitched at the familiarity of his expression, the same loopy way he’d looked at her when she’d served him the very first day they’d met, and she swayed towards him, torn between wanting to fling herself into his arms and resurrect the good old days and run as far from him as she could get.

Pulling up short, she stiffened, hoping he hadn’t read the yearning in her face. ‘I don’t have far to go.’

‘Okay, then. I guess we’ll call it a night.’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘Thanks for agreeing to meet with me, Cam.’

She held her breath as he leaned towards her, his head descending slowly, her heart pounding in anticipation of a good-night kiss she shouldn’t want so damn much.

He took his time, and she clenched her hands into fists to stop from reaching out, bunching his T-shirt and yanking him towards her.

Her eyelids fluttered shut, and she tilted her face up, silently praying he’d go for her lips, guessing he’d play the gentleman to the end and settle for her cheek after all this time.

‘You have my card. Use it,’ he whispered against her ear, his warm breath tickling the sensitive skin behind her lobe and sending tiny shivers of desire down her spine.

Her eyes flew open to find him staring at her with way too much perception, as if he knew what she wanted but would make her wait for it.

Well, he’d be waiting a long time considering she had no intention of using his card.

‘See you.’

Her noncommittal reply fell on deaf ears as his confident smile broadened, and she sent him a jaunty wave as she strolled away, resisting the urge to peek over her shoulder to see if he was watching her. By the heat burning holes in her back and spreading, he was, but she didn’t look back.

Just like he hadn’t when he’d left her high and dry and walked out on her in Rainbow Creek.

CHAPTER THREE

CAMRYN gnawed on her bottom lip, giving the screwdriver an extra vicious twist as she tried to fix the refrigerator door for the third time.

The screwdriver slipped, sheering off the hinge and gouging a deep gash into the pale oak cabinet housing the fridge, and she swore, shoving the useless tool back into the pink tool case designed especially for ‘the independent woman’.

‘Is it the bloody tool that’s the problem or the supposed expert wielding it?’

She narrowed her eyes, sending Anna a glare she reserved for rude customers. ‘I never said I was an expert.’

‘No? Then what’s with the fancy tools?’

Anna’s grin widened as Camryn sprang up from her squatting position and kicked the offending tool case under the bench.

‘Apparently they’re only good for hammering the odd picture hook or tightening the odd loose screw.’ Which was exactly what she had—quite a few loose screws if she thought she could fix something requiring bigger biceps than hers.

‘As for fixing fridge hinges…’ She blew out an exasperated puff of air, casting a malevolent glance at the offending metal hinge. ‘I hate having to call a handyman just to fix something as small as this.’

‘But if you don’t, we’ll lose tomorrow’s cheesecake supply.’ Anna paused, tapping an apricot-coloured fingernail against her bottom lip. ‘Know anyone we can call at short notice?’

Camryn’s heart sank.

She knew someone all right.

In fact, his business card had been burning a hole in her pocket all week.

She’d had no intention of calling Blane, despite the fact she did a double-take every time a tradesman entered the café and she’d dreamed of his laid-back charming smile and twinkling grey eyes several nights since.

In fact, she should have thrown his card out and would have if she’d been able to find it, but she had so many pairs of jeans she rotated as her ‘uniform’ that she’d forgotten which pair she’d worn the night he’d waltzed back into her life.

She’d assumed she’d washed them anyway and that would have taken care of that, but, as fate would have it, when she’d crouched down to fix the hinge, something had crackled in her back pocket, and she’d found his card.

If she believed in all that airy-fairy fate rubbish she would say she was meant to call him. But she didn’t, so she’d put it down to luck instead.

She needed a handyman, she’d found his card, she’d call him. That was where it would end.

And if he tried charming her again, she’d plead work and hide out in the back storeroom till he finished the job.